


Heat

by Rydaer



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bottom John Marston, Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship/Love, I'm making up for the lack of porn in my last one, Idiots in Love, Love Triangles, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Spoilers, Top Arthur Morgan, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), everyone is okay in this one, kinda with a plot, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 02:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rydaer/pseuds/Rydaer
Summary: "Am I being an Idiot?" his words are barely comprehensible as the whiskey has loosened his tongue enough to make them come out in a lazy slur. Evidently he has problems focusing him, still John has his gaze locked on him the minute he came into his view, as if he was waiting for something particular. He doesn’t seem too ashamed with himself or intimidated by the look Arthur gives him.(or also simply known as: John is drunk and harrassing everyone. Arthur thinks he deserves to be punished.)





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> In between all this angst and heartbreak I've written, I needed something light and simple for a change - I think this is also making up for the lack of smut in the last one.
> 
> There aren't many spoilers in this one (it's PWP after all, duh) but I still put some warnings up. Oh and it's based on this random camp scene you can observe: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onI5D2Ws9EM if you're interested. Love this one way too much. Hopefully I did a good job paying tribute to this gem. Everything is better with some gay cowboys if you ask me. :P

John had been drinking the whole day, it’s a wonder the man can still sort out his own feet and well, somehow manage to survive and not die.

At one point this day, he had tripped over something and almost slammed his head straight into a tree. Not sure if that would have done any more damage to his brain. In fact, Arthur thought, most of the damage had been done ages ago, several times – so there’s not much left to be injured. That man had gotten into a lot of incidents in the past and magically lived through all of them. Survived a wolf attack, the freezing mountains, the Blackwater heist, a few train robberies gone wrong and almost swung when they first collected him – seemed more like dumb luck by now, that he would not fall over a Cliffside drunk and die. Only fools it seems, attract some invisible guardiancy.

And John was the uncrowned king of fools.

He had been staggering around camp for hours, doing nothing but to mercilessly antagonize everyone – with that stupid big mouth of his and his “I just give a shit” attitude. So far, Arthur had been wise enough to let the man be in a dick mood for once until he would grow too tired and too drunk and crash at his tent to sleep for hours. John is a pain in the ass when drunk, kind of fun, kind of annoying to watch. More or less, he’s no real threat – would be more of a threat if he could control what came out of his mouth but his stupid laughter ruin it. With him it’s just a few insults and a lot of not-making-any-sense.

The men mostly ignored him and couldn’t take him all too serious and all of the girls were soon fed up with his attention seeking mocking. Abigail had once again given him a full-throated lecture about how pathetic he was acting and continued to punish him with ignorance for the rest of the day, while all of them saw and listened. Nothing out of the ordinary so far – that didn’t happen for the first time. It happened almost daily and it was becoming boring to make fun of John because of it.

Arthur isn’t sure if the alcohol is turning John into an even bigger Idiot or if his real self is just coming through. Folks say give a man enough booze and he speaks the truth like a goddamn priest standing in front of god himself. Actually the Reverend had said something along those lines a few days ago. When he was drunk as well, so maybe the historical accuracy could be discussed.

John on the other hand was neither very religious nor godly. He was just mad and babbling nonsense, yet it had Arthur wondering how much of that nonsense actually had some truth laying in it.

The personal apex of embarrassment occurred, when John had set his blurred eyesight on Karen. For some reason he must’ve thought it would be a good idea to unabashedly play his charms with the busty blonde - or whatever you want to call it. John hardly has the charm of dull knife - can’t flirt, can’t talk properly to women; usually has no manners either, so his fruitless attempt comes out as bold as usual.

“Oh…my company’s not good ‘nough for you?” he asks drunkenly, clearly trying to struck a nerve. He’s acting unhinged and provocative on purpose but fails miserably because he can’t even properly sit still and threatens to slip off of his own chair - he's a mess. Karen strokes a strand of her blonde her out of her face, covers her glorious cleavage as she catches his gaze lasting there a little too long to excuse it happening accidently. Arthur has certainly never seen her more irritated. She’s usually no one to get irritated at all, period. She is used to getting hit on. Not so much by John though.

“No, but…” Normally Karen would have snapped at him instantly with the same cockiness. She undoubtedly held herself back at first, seeing as they were friends, they were living with each other on such a small space, wouldn’t feel right to have things going awkward between them. Arthur interpreted that much out of her posture and gesture. She liked John, only her affections towards him were strictly of familiar nature.

“You’re too fine and…mighty.” He concludes rather bluntly. John was really pushing it now. Arthur could already picture him getting slapped as he keeps on observing the two in safe distance, ready to step in if things would get too heated and someone – well, had to interfere. He wasn’t all too scared for Karen but for John – she would beat his ass to shreds. That woman only looks angelic – she is far away from actually being that.

“But, Abigail!” the mention of her name suddenly hung in the air like an unspoken rule, reminding John about the commitment made to one woman. When drunk he is clearly having none of it – hell he never grows tired of mentioning he had never made such vow to Abigail, theoretically, not practically at least. He laughs it off like it is some kind of sick joke she had told him. Might really be a joke to him by now. No one even knows why the two of them got married in the first place. It’s like living with a pair of hungry coyotes. And one of them is plain stupid and just catching it's own tail.

Arthur is just an arm’s reach away to step in when he keeps on pestering her and he’s almost close to knock him out when he has the nerve to pull her on his lap, mumbling the same stupid argument Arthur had heard him say many times before in the past:

“We ain’t married y’know.”

It’s always the same damn excuse, yet Karen is – by all means – no dumb thing to be fooled around with. She knows John’s tie to Abigail and she might have robbed people of their property or get into fist fights with other women on a regular basis, but she would never have her way with John, no matter how eagerly he tries. Plus, Arthur is pretty sure she had something going with Sean – he had certainly overheard some very delicate details in that tent of John’s a few nights ago.

 “Get off of me! You’re being an idiot!” she loudly states, to which John  just reacts with a completely irrational wheezing and her jumping off of his lap in the process. Beyond doubt amused with his stupid action towards her and the reaction it provoked. Maybe that had been his plan all along. He just wanted to wind her up.

_What a goddamn idiot._

Arthur muses to himself.

She had luckily stormed off angrily when the older man finally steps up and openly approaches John at his now lonely place at the table, making it all too clear what he thinks about his behavior. There is a frown on his face, not of the good kind. It is stone-cold. It’s not just disappointment and annoyance with the younger man and his careless attitude he adopted, its also hidden jealousy. Abigail was one thing…she remains John’s wife after all and Arthur likes her, feels sorry for her most of the times. The guilt makes it pretty tough sometimes to continue this _‘thing’_ he had going with John. It only works when Arthur weakly reassures himself with the fact, that he had never been a good man and the list of committed sins is already long enough to make him – god forbid he would ever do that - burst into flames the second he stepped into a church. If you kill people on a regular basis, you probably shouldn’t get your panties in a bunch over boning a taken man. If that’s even what they could call it. What do they even call men that get it on with each other every once in a while, with both having hidden feelings for each other?

Idiots, probably.

Nevertheless, if John may start to hit on the other women in camp now to regain some self-confidence or proof some ridiculous point of his – well, even Arthur’s god given patience knew borders. It is a dumb thought and completely free of being rational and reasonable, but he figured, that’s how suppressed love works. Things get heated, one gets jealous – they both get hurt. No wisdom gained so far because they’ve been continuing this vicious circle way too many times already to brush it off as a one timer.

Their friendship, their brotherhood – or whatever it is nowadays. Bravery always quickly leaves Arthur and he starts to panic the second his thoughts circulate around the possibility that they might be a couple of some sort, if not in the traditional sense. If there’s anything traditional about two outlaws being intimate with one another.

Somehow, John’s behavior probably serves him right. It’s the only thing he truly deserves. Arthur took a lot of things in the past – he took money, property and mostly life’s. But he never stole someone’s husband so far. That is refreshingly new. John would probably disagree with him here and trying to set it right, once and for all: he had not been stolen, he had gladly accepted to be taken away. It wasn’t one sided and maybe that made it dangerous and strange, but oh so right and excitingly risky under right circumstances.

“Am I being an Idiot?” his words are barely comprehensible as the whiskey has loosened his tongue enough to make them come out in a lazy slur. Evidently he has problems focusing him, still John has his gaze locked on him the minute he came into his view, as if he was waiting for something particular. He doesn’t seem too ashamed with himself or intimidated by the look Arthur gives him.

The older man has a whole lot of insults ready to be thrown his way. There is a special one creating an uncomfortable burning in his heart, one he desperately wants to get rid of. Yet he settles on keeping them to himself for now, as he does with way too many things in his life. It is one hell of an unhealthy coping mechanism he has learned over time.

“Yes.” He answers flatly, trying to hide how deeply it hurts him to stumble into scenarios of that sort. He would rather teach him some goddamn manners if that wouldn’t be such a useless attempt.

“I thought so.” More wheezing as he went back to drink from his bottle, signaling that this conversation had come to an end, that he did not plan on continuing it. Arthur sharply inhales and grits his teeth not sure if he should add anything or just leave it for now. Was he trying to wind him up now?

He decides for the latter and walks away. He’s certainly seen enough shit for one day.

Next time, he reminds himself, he should probably make sure to get himself absolutely shit-faced as well. Eases the pain and numbs the jealousy raging in his heart.

John has always been a fool, that wasn’t new. It’s hard to comprehend sometimes, why Arthur still continued to love him as much as he did. He is – by all means – completely worthless most of the time.

He makes sure to spend the rest of the day in safe distance to John. The camp was small enough to notice each other’s presence but big enough to keep your distance if you wished so. That made it easy to avoid John as the day passed.

Arthur had given in and observed him a few times, just to make sure that he was not creating any more ruckus of course. That fool was still drinking, still somehow not throwing up and occasionally leaning against a wagon to nap, which only helped to make him shut up for a while, not to cure his drunkenness. At one point, Arthur swears that John should have drunken enough to make him finally collapse in his tent and sleep but he never does. He continues being a nuisance and Arthur sincerely wills himself to disregard him intentionally. It feels rather odd, as if John is just acting up to coax some kind of attention out of the older man.

Before residing to his cot to scribble around in his Journal, he had done some tasks around camp to take his mind off of things, whereas John had been suspiciously invested into watching him when he chopped wood in the unforgiving heat of the midday sun or carried some hay stacks to feed the horses. Perhaps he wasn’t so wrong about his first intentions. John had been clearly up for something.

Arthur doesn’t have to turn around and assure himself of John’s attention, he feels his gaze all over his body without looking and he’s well aware, John’s attention is almost always on him. It had done quite a number on Arthur’s self-control; he had discarded his plan in the end of just taking his shirt off to torture him. John’s earlier behavior had definitely not earned him anything – he was not going to give him a show, granting that it was very tempting because he knew about the effect he had on the younger one.

He could still feel his eyes all over him and he knows what he’s thinking about while watching him. It sends a comfortable heat down his spine and forces his mind to explore territories it shouldn’t explore. At least if he wants to make it through a day without masturbating to the thought. That had happened before, whereas Arthur knows he shouldn’t be thinking about it at all, for the sake of keeping some self-control. He's a grown man, for fucks sake. He shouldn't act like a horny teenager hitting puberty.

Arthur sighs and crosses his legs to stop the all too familiar twitching in his neither regions. It’s been like this for the whole day and it’s starting to unwind him greatly. Even that soft friction while doing so makes him whimper. He has no idea why he is feeling so on the edge lately. Might be the humid heat that comes with summer, might be the fact that it’s been a while. Comes with the burden of being a man as it seems. Men are more like animals than women ever could be.

He pushes himself to concentrate on the drawing he is currently working on. But at some point, that had also turned out to be a rough sketch of John drinking himself into a mess and leaning against a tree. On the next page it now says “Drinkin’ away the whole day. Useless, sorry bastard.”

He angrily claps his journal together and stuffs it back to his other few belongings he had managed to keep after Blackwater. It was late afternoon now, close to turn evening.  Soon he would be on night guard and John hopefully deep asleep – which should prevent them to run into each other. He would probably awake with one hell of a hangover. And the nausea and the headache he was going to have served him right.

Bill is – as always - very eager, very unnerving and unnecessarily loud to announce that it’s Arthur’s turn with night’s guard. He places the rifle in his hands and mumbles something under his breath about how Arthur always gets the good jobs but he can’t get out of this duty all the time – and his shift had been way too long already and of course “You’re not above this, Morgan!” – Bill is not the brightest candle, it’s beyond his tiny mind how gladly Arthur volunteers to each task thrown his way and how he’s so utterly thankful for the distraction it provides now. In fact, he’s doing the absolute mammoth part of camp duties while Williamson just sits around all day, claiming to be thinking about decent scores to be made. Arthur knows it’s a big pile of stinking horse shit but he doesn’t give it enough room to be outraged about it. He tells him to shut up and get lost and relieves him from his shift to stop his endless bickering, to which he gladly accommodates for once. He admits to be thirsty and leaves quickly to get himself a beer.

Arthur adamantly starts his shift as he shoulders the rifle and wanders around his usual path.

The sun has sunken low enough on the horizon to drench the tents and wagons of Horseshoe Overlook in a soft, gentle orange.  Soon it will be replaced with the moon and the stars as nighttime falls and the hustling and bustling in camp will start to subside. A few of them have already taken a seat at the camp fire to listen to one of Uncle’s fairy tales – either by choice or not.

Apart from staying up all night and being quite beaten in the morning, Arthur doesn’t mind night’s guard. Gives him some time to himself he would otherwise rarely get. Being stuck with 20 various personalities that each have their own complicated backstory takes its toll from time to time. The girls fight a lot with Miss Grimshaw - mostly about her tone and her guidance, that’s not unusual, but the other men in camp…well, getting along and not strangle each other can be challenging. And that’s still mildly underestimated. 

It sprawls out pretty simple: there are men in camp which Arthur has grown to like, some which existence he simply endures and some he absolutely despises.

And there’s John. And things with John have always been complicated.

He usually leaves it to the men to figure out which position they hold. With John he can’t be that indifferent. As years passed, the relationship with him had evolved into…something else. Arthur had learned that being unforgiving about mistakes that have been made in the past is close to impossible if you’re getting a constant reminder about how much you truly want someone. And John never grew tired of reminding him. He had tried, again and again, until Arthur couldn’t bring himself to be angry with him anymore.

Arthur’s attention automatically falls back on John. His eyes scan the place for a while until he spots him sitting at the table with Micah. They don’t talk much – not that they ever had much to say to each other or that everything coming out of Micah’s mouth should get any form of attention. It’s not a secret what John thinks about the other man, but if drunk enough, they can at least accept one another’s presence.

At least he’s behaving himself for a change. Arthur’s attention still lingers on John and the things he would rather like to do to him as watching him from afar.

Distracting himself is clearly not working out yet. It’s going to be a long night for sure.

 

 

\---

 

Eventually, John had finally grown tired and stumbled into his tent, not be seen after that. Arthur felt unusually relieved that the unsettling thoughts would finally come to rest and his overstimulated mind had time to relax, now that he was out of sight. It was now past midnight and a few hours left until his watch ended.

He calmly stands at the edge of the Cliffside and watches the scenery underneath as he lights himself a cigarette. The moon is bright and full above him; its light draws some spooky features and shadows. There’s a small herd of deer’s nearby and he resides to watch them for a while, pondering if he should get his journal and draw them. It’s easier to draw animals by night. They hide a lot during the day, you have to be very patient to catch one in the open and get a good perspective to draw.

Most of the gang had gone to rest by now, only Bill had passed out against a tree, peacefully snoring away with his hat hiding half of his face and a bottle of half empty beer next to him.

Before Arthur can give that idea a second thought, there are familiar arms wrapping around his upper body from behind, holding him close and giving him quite the scare. Arthur could already tell by the strong stench of whiskey, mud and dried grass that it was John. He didn’t even have to turn around.

„What you’re think you’re doin‘ boy?“ Arthur’s growl is close to a whisper as he flinches and moves beneath John, signaling him to let go. It’s the middle of the night, everyone’s deep asleep judging by the snoring all around camp that cuts through the silence of the darkness every once in a while. Still, they are very much out in the open, it’s not particularly hidden by curious looks. And it could cause some irritation if he doesn’t get rid of John fast. Perhaps he could strangle him right here, no one would even notice.

…perhaps the strangling part might not be the first idea he has in mind when John is just so very close to him – as shameful as it might be to admit that.

_Behave yourself, Morgan._

“Being an Idiot.” John mumbles drunkenly, cutting off half of the words. It’s followed by his hoarse wheezing, amused by his own drunkenness as it occurs. His breath is thick with whiskey and the little bit of rest he had gotten had surprisingly not done any wonders to his condition. If John would just put all of his energy into something useful for a change, camp duties to be more specific, he would soon become the camp’s glorious favorite.

John doesn’t move a bit, he just holds him steady, partly because he would probably fall over otherwise. Arthur knows he could have easily shoved him away by now. The younger one is highly uncoordinated and got some serious problems sorting his limbs out.

On the other hand, Arthur’s resistance is exceedingly low to his antics.

“That’s no news. Now get lost! You need to sleep it off.” It doesn’t sound much convincing at all and Arthur damns himself or his lack of willpower to put a halt to John’s shenanigans. He should be above this, yet right now he’s everything but reasonable.

“I need somethin’ else.” the tone in John’s voice doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Arthur uses his chance to finally wrestle out of his grip to look him straight in the eye. It flickers in his brown eyes like the camp fire gleaming nearby. Arthur has seen John giving him that look many times before – actually just a few hours ago when he was chopping wood for the camp fire. And he’s very familiar with what exactly it means. The lack of words sums up for that.

Arthur inhales sharply. There’s a comfortable heat starting to pool in his stomach, as he examines John. That reference was way too bold to ignore it. He’s hooked, there’s no denying.

As if Arthur doesn’t know damn well what John wants, why throws his body against him in the middle of the night. His defense is just a clever way to hide his real excitement.

He also fully enjoys John’s impatience when he’s playing dumb with him on full purpose.

“And what‘s that?” Arthur teases gruffly. He does have very conflicting thoughts about all of this and it must shine through pretty clear. The younger man seems to sense his discomfort before he can be openly vocal about it. He spins him around with a shove to his shoulder. The movement is surprisingly coordinated.

“Y’know damn well.” He hoarsely slurs out the words, barely able to keep his eyes open. Those beautiful brown eyes, carrying that wild flicker Arthur has grown to secretly admire way too much.

Arthur is unsure if John is really in the right condition to make such decisions but on the other hand…has John ever made a good decision when he was sober?

Indeed not.

John’s fingers have long started to wander lazily around his collar and the the tiny bit of skin exposed. It’s a soft gesture, usually too soft for John Marston but Arthur enjoys it. He likes John’s softer side, despite it just coming to surface whenever he is drunk enough. John’s impatience usually prevents him from lasting long enough for Arthur to even get him through the foreplay. The word itself probably doesn’t exist in John’s vocabulary.

“You care to show me?” he tries playfully. His voice is low and his undertone inviting. It’s more of a command than an offer. Arthur studies him confidently for his reaction, sees him biting his lip, like he’s just about to counter with one of his cocky remarks.

John is obedient like he’s been left out to starve for too long and that’s not even far away from the truth. He was kind of starving, if only metaphorically. He had to endure a lot today without Arthur touching him or giving him even the tiniest amount of attention. Had been quite the task for the older man as well but it usually paid off in the end.

In the end one of them always came crawling back to the other to demand what’s been withheld. And the debt was due now.

The answer comes as quickly as the words have left his mouth in form of John crashing their lips together. They both gasp in surprise and excitement that is starting to build up. John’s tongue is soft and carries that same old whiskey taste, sweet and spicy. He’s invading Arthur’s mouth like he wants to get him just as drunk only by his taste and the talented way in which he kisses him.

“No showin’, no more playin’. Want you to fuck me right here, out in the open.” John blurts out after they part for a second to catch their breaths.  Slow, is not something to be associated with John Marston and he would have said it regardless if his patience is running out, drunk or not. Talk about not appreciating the perks of a more tender approach. John rather approaches Arthur like he approaches a lot of his jobs done in the past – he just barges forward and improvises if needed. 

And it works for Arthur. It works too well.

He likes that big dirty mouth of his and the primal wishes it pronounces. That thought of rejecting him, because someone could catch them red handed? It’s long gone. Pushed into the farest corner of Arthur’s mind. If he’s being brutally honest with himself on that manner, he always loved to take a risk. With John it was constantly about taking risks. No one in camp actually knew about them – some might have ideas about them judging by the looks they had gotten but that wasn’t anything to get worried about. Arthur is always playing his cards well enough to not get caught.

Gets his dick hard in a very strange way he can’t explain to himself.

“You sure ‘bout this? Someone could see.”

“Don’t act like you care. I know you don’t.” Is he being that obvious? Shit, it really must have been a while if he comes of that needy that even John can read him like a book.

John had already started to fumble around with his shirt, trying to get a few more of the buttons open, which is quite a task, considering his current condition. Arthur has to lean in a bit. Sometimes he lets out a dark chuckle that feels a little misplaced.

He looks rather fine like this. Wild, black hair dirty as always, lips softly parted and his impatience to get rid of all of the unnecessary layers of clothing.

“Gotta agree with ya there.”  Arthur’s hands slide down to grab his ass very ungentlemanly. The younger one lets out a surprised yelp and presses his arousal into his warm waiting body.

“S’good.”

John kisses him again. It’s full of longing and dominance. He soon gets a little too feisty with his tongue and hands in Arthur’s opinion so he mimics John’s movements, touches his chest and all the way down to his narrow waist, unbuttoning his shirt in the process – in a much slower pace of course. He doesn’t reply with much defense as their clothed genitals touch. He’s way too drunk, he just lets out a satisfied grunt.

“Easy there. Care to catch up with my pace, old man?” he mocks. Arthur grips his wrists tugging at his belt.

“Shut your goddamn mouth already.” He tries to maneuver John away from where they are standing into a safe spot behind the ammo wagon. It’s only relatively hidden but it will serve the case just fine of giving them some modesty if they keep the noise down a bit. Especially John.

There’s really nothing else there to cover them, at least not fully. The camp fire had burnt out mostly and in far distance, Arthur could hear the sound of footsteps rustling through the dried grass. There was at least one of them on night guard and Arthur knew it could only be Sean. Being stuck with so many men for so many years, he’d kind of learned what their gait sounded like. That came in quite handy if you wanted to make sure there was no one walking around camp who wasn’t supposed to be there.

Definitely not reason to break out in a cold sweat, Sean was noisy and curious but he was also a big show off and a blabbermouth and sometimes even fell asleep while on night guard, much to Dutch’s disagreement. Arthur had seen him drinking just as much as John, so that wasn’t unlikely to happen. He wouldn't walk in on them.

Hopefully, if John wasn't as loud as usual.

Just imagining that someone could wake up and see them only adds to Arthur’s arousal. His mind gets foggy with lust and he can feel his pants becoming uncomfortably tight around his groin.

He is well aware of the fact he should probably be more reasonable, but there had only been one moment to deny John and it had long passed.

“You keep the goddamn noise down then.” Arthur warns. The younger man lets out a frustrated growl.

“Less talk, more…of this.” John shows Arthur exactly and rather uncanny how he wants to be touched by putting his hand right on the clothed bulge building in his pants. Damn John Marston and his impatient, horny nature. And him for falling for it every single time.

Arthur tenderly rubs John through the thick fabric of his jeans before he forcefully pins him to the wooden planks of the wagon – puts him in his place. He bites his neck, licks a soft trail up to his ear and leans in closely to make sure John is the only one hearing it:

“Don’t get all cocky on me, boy. Don’t like that attitude of yours.” He spits. Arthur wants him to know who’s in charge here. He hasn’t forgotten about the past events of the day and some way or another, punishment has to happen - although it’s not eternally sure if all of this is really punishment to John. He whimpers and yelps against him like a lady in distress.

John has the audacity to laugh softly.

“Don’t like me hittin’ on someone else, huh? You jealous?” his eyes scan Arthur carefully and beneath the darkness, he can see that dirty smile playing around his features. It’s provocative as ever.

Arthur swings John’s body around with a swift movement so he is facing the wagon instead of him. He puts one of his strong legs between John’s for emphasis, right under his privates and adds some pressure to it. Not that it hurts but’s clearly enough to coax a really hoarse, primal sound out of John’s arrogant mouth.

He enjoys to be strict with him.

“You have no idea. You want me to fuck you?” He grinds his now fully hard dick against the soft curve of John’s ass to underline his point. John moves back against him suddenly, growing irritated with Arthur’s teasing already.

“Son of  a bitch…” he breathes out, not really in the mood to keep on playing. It seems the boy just wants a good hard fuck, judging by how helplessly he flinches beneath him. Arthur fears that under these circumstances he probably won’t last much longer either. The sight of John being pressed against that wagon, melting into him so willingly, obedient to be tamed for once is enough to make him come right away. He makes it way too easy.

“What ya want, John?”

“Stop teasin’ Morgan.” He’s literally begging for it. Arthur’s face softens and he’s already working on John’s pants to get them down. As they slide down to his feet a small can of petroleum slips out. Arthur exhales breathily and mumbles something inaudible under his breath. It sounds a lot like “Shit. You planned this or somethin’?” not that it surprises him.

John replies with a self-confident grin.

“What ya think I’ve been doin’ in that tent?” Arthur groans when he pictures John preparing himself, all alone in his tent without him knowing. How he draws his fingers in and out, grabbing his dick with his other hand to pump himself. At this point, he’s not sure if there’s any blood left in his head. It had all gone elsewhere by now.

“You dirty fool.”

Without much ceremony, Arthur unbuckles his belt to free his aching dick. It’s hypersensitive to the cold chill night air and its already glistening with precum at the tip. He has heard enough and he has definitely seen enough as well. He wanted to draw this out until the very end but’s clearly not going to happen. Not today.

He grabs the petroleum and spreads some of it on the length of his painful erection, coats it completely so he doesn’t accidently hurt the younger man. All under the watchful eye of John. It’s pretty damn dark but Arthur sees the look he’s giving him. How he is examining him head to toe as he turns around a little

“Careful not to split me in a half with that thing, Morgan.” he knows it’s meant as a compliment. John has his blunt approach with compliments – they always come out like this, he can’t help it. In one minute he would call him beautiful and in the next he would just make a really inappropriate comment about the size of his dick and it’s both meant in a loving way. Took him some time to get used to that. Arthur had always been a little unsure about his body – especially the parts only people saw he got intimate with. So it’s no wonder a certain amount of embarrassment kicks in and he feels himself blushing slightly, which John gladly doesn’t see because it’s way too dark. He wouldn’t have wanted to give him the victory that he was starting to intimidate him.

“Shoulda be used to it by now.”

“It’s been way too long. Now hurry up, you sour bastard.”

“Aren’t you one impatient asshole? You’re lucky I love you. Jesus Christ.” Arthur doesn’t need to be called twice. With John having done most of the prepping beforehand, he just has to place his dick at his entrance and push into the tight ring of muscle. John moans huskily, tries eagerly to steady his body by leaning against the wagon. Despite the preparation Arthur is still greeted with an undeniable tightness because it really has been a while. He stifles his own loud groan by gritting his teeth, waits until John gets comfortable enough to take some more of him and pushes in further.

Inch by Inch, in an awfully slow pace that soon drives John furious with arousal.

“Faster.” John demands impatiently, nearly shoving himself down on the length of Arthur’s dick with one of his hands being balled into a fist and slammed against the wagon. Arthur takes notice and grants it with a smile, placing a soft kiss on John’s exposed neck to tease him some more.

“Easy there, boy.” He knows it’s in vain. John only likes things if they are working to a certain pace. Even if Arthur’s the one buried inside him, he still makes sure to keep the upper hand. And it’s hot and endearing and makes Arthur’s dick twitch.

He wouldn’t want John any other way.

The older man adjusts to John’s wish finally and quickens his trusts. It’s his luck that he kind of steadies John’s bodyweight enough by pressing him against the wagon, otherwise he would have just fallen over, uncoordinated and drunk as he still is. His drunkenness now mixes with his excitement and it’s probably too overwhelming. He’s completly neglecting his dick and since Arthur doesn’t want him to get hurt by ramming it into one of the wheels or getting a splinter in his most sensible areas, he moves his hand around and grabs his pulsing hard on, rubbing up and down in time with his deep, unforgiving trusts.

The angle is good, he has already stroked over that soft spot that makes John a wild quivering mess.

At some point he has to hush him to be quiet, or he will wake up the whole camp. John – in the heights of pleasure – growls “I don’t care.” in response. And Arthur knows he’s being completely honest. John had never been one to hold back his real feelings. He always carried his heart on his tongue, voiced his opinions rather loudly, even if it wasn’t asked for. He still believes they have some kind of future together – and Arthur lets him have his fantasy. Maybe that’s what he loves about John – he is more of an optimist about it, not such a cynic.

John is the first one to come undone. As he can’t obviously last much longer, he lets out a scream that Arthur quickly muffles by putting his hand on his mouth, while his other one gets covered in his warm seed.

It takes only a few more trusts until Arthur can feel the heights of his climax as well. He bites his lip and spills deeply inside John, suppressed groans leaving his mouth as he rides out his orgasm. He slips out of John the moment he leans forward and falls on his knees, the aftershocks of his orgasm shaking him. They are both panting heavily. John finally turns around, a mischievous grin playing across his lips. With his pants still pooled around his ankles he whispers a promise Arthur knows he’s damn sure about keeping.

“My turn next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always: constructive critism is welcome! Kudos & Comments are encouraged and loved!
> 
> John is probably going to come back at Arthur. One way or another.


End file.
